"Allen Steele - Shepherd Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

"But I can only keep trying," Milos said, "because it's the only thing I can
do."

Saturn was a thing of vast and frightening beauty. There was no way she could
compete with it for her husband's attention, and she was tired of sharing.

"Goodbye, Milos," she said. "Good luck."

"Goodbye, Genevieve," he said softly. "Thank you."

There was nothing more to be said.

He turned his back on her, returning his attention to his canvas. She switched
off the comlink, but stood there for a couple of minutes, silently watching him.
For a time, he stared at the mighty world beyond the rocky shore, visible yet
unreachable. Then he shifted on his stool, touched the palette with his left
hand, and slowly raised his right hand to the canvas.

She bent down, picked up a chunk of ice, and stood erect. If she hurled it at


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the canvas, the painting would be destroyed. Indeed, the canvas itself would be
ruined, its internal electronics disrupted beyond repair; he would not be able
to replace it. There would be no point for him to remain on Mimas any longer. He
would be forced to go home with her, and they would be together in Brussels. . .
.

And he would hate her for the rest of his life.

She let the ice chunk fall from her hand, watched as it floated slowly to the
ground. Milos never noticed, his finger moved across the canvas, adding a long
daub of magenta to Satum's face. Yet, as she watched, his finger hesitated for a
moment, obeying a tremble of his nerves.

A random, uncorrectable splotch appeared on the canvas.

He lifted his finger away from the easel and stared at it. For a few moments he
did nothing. . . . then he touched a stud on the palette and the painting
disappeared. Gone forever.

She held her breath and waited.

He sat still, looking at Saturn. After a short time, his finger rose to the
blank canvas and, once again, he began to patiently trace the outline of the
planer's hemisphere.